


Deep as Sea: Missing Scenes

by SalomeSevenVeils



Series: Lovecraftian-ish AU Mariners [2]
Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Angst, Dry Humping, Kanon no, Kanon yes, Lovecraftian, M/M, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Throne Sex, Twincest, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29377338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalomeSevenVeils/pseuds/SalomeSevenVeils
Summary: Three scenes that don't fit in Deep as Sea because it is Kanon's story.(Alternatively: Kanon ruins things. Ruined things try to cope after.)
Relationships: Gemini Kanon/Gemini Saga, Gemini Kanon/Sagittarius Aiolos, Gemini Saga/Sagittarius Aiolos
Series: Lovecraftian-ish AU Mariners [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153160
Kudos: 10





	1. Kanon tries to help.

**Author's Note:**

> This is horny, then sad horny, then sad boner hours. Consider yourself warned.

Kanon tries to 'fix' Aiolos at Aiolia's request. Aiolia should have gone to literally everyone else.

* * *

Aiolos wishes he knows what has led to this. And by this, he means being in a deserted nook of the Colosseum at sunset with Kanon nipping down his waist.

He is still half convinced this is a fever dream, brought about by the scorching heat of Athens summer, but then cool lips glide over an interesting spot on his thigh and cooler hand splays over his lower stomach to keep him plush against the stone wall. His knees shake.

The day Aiolos finally realizes attraction isn’t exactly the happiest day of his life, contrary to popular opinion. It is honest-to-Athena not. For one, attraction is distracting. And secondly—

Actually, attraction is not exactly the wrong word. However, in this situation it would be similar to equaling a bird and a butterfly. Both fly and lay eggs, but there is the caterpillar thing and the hollow bones thing and, he’s getting off the track. 

In reality, Aiolos knows what the little twinges in his stomach, the soft tingles in his fingers at the apple-red flushes on girls’ cheeks mean. They are pretty and that’s about it, really.

…That, doesn’t exactly prepare him for the punches in the guts down the line.

Sometimes, Aiolos looks back on that moment when he realizes and wonders if he’d gone completely insane at the time.

(It’s a sweltering day like today. Kanon and Saga in their corner of the Sanctuary. It’s not theirs by right, but with the way everybody avoids that part of land, it might be as well theirs. Except, Aiolos isn’t counted in that everybody.

The image of Saga—perfect, formal and dignified—plastered himself over Kanon on the floor to try leech as much relief from cooler flesh to stave away the heat. Aegean hair mingles together until he can’t tell where one begins and one ends. Light falls through stained-glass and turns the spread of blue into a sparkling piece of the sea. Kanon’s eyes are half-lidded, unfocused, and vulnerable. Saga’s almost delicate fingers rest on a pale collarbone, light clings to his eyelashes.

Air lodges in Aiolos’ throat.

He regrets. It is too late to run. He can’t erase what he has seen. He doesn’t want to. He does not turn. He does not leave. Does not even breathe.

He doesn’t regret intruding on such a private moment. He is guilty because he doesn’t know whom the flips in his stomach are for.

He doesn’t even remember why he has come to find them in the first place.)

Aiolos is the Sagittarius Saint. A Knight of Athena. He spends approximately eighty percent of his day slaving away at the endlessly self-generating stacks of paperwork—who knows running an army creates that much paperwork, at least that explains the bureaucracy classes— and participating in life-threatening assignments. It’s a fulfilling life, abnormal but not in a bad way. Protecting the world is a noble mission. 

And yet, the discovery of attraction throws his harmonious life into chaos.

“You’re being weirder than usual,” is what Aiolia had told him when they were having weekly dinner. “Seriously, did anything happen between you and them?”

“Is there anything I should know?” is mortifyingly what Grand Master Shion had pulled him aside for after a report, voice tinged with fatherly concern. “Take a break. Think carefully over what’s disturbing you so.”

Horrifyingly, Saga gives him sympathetic looks. Does he know?

Silver linings, Kanon doesn’t seem to understand what’s currently on his mind.

The first time he jerks out of Kanon’s touch, the tiny pinch of hurt has almost made him fold like a house of cards and explain everything. To make him understand, it’s not any of his fault, it’s all Aiolos’ inability to control himself.

(He dreams of them. One kneeling between the legs of another, spine arches in pleasure. Legs spread wide – welcoming, hands fist in sea blue hair. Sometimes, it’s one. Sometimes, it’s both.

The span of a palm against a slim waist, hair drapes over shoulders.

Aiolos wakes up aching.

It’s especially hard to meet the twins’ eyes after those nights.)

He has thought he would have time to solve the tangle mess of emotions after Saga asks Kanon to give him space. Then, this happens.

The shell of his ear is still tingling after Kanon purred “push me off if you don’t want this” into it. Hands running up his thighs, his protest dies prematurely. His cock wakes with immediate interest. Traitor.

Teeth find another spot that turns his legs into jelly. Kanon somehow knows exactly the moment his attention strays. His mind wanders to the fact Kanon might be experienced enough to predict his partner, sudden venomous indignation rises up, strong enough to nearly take over his being before being smothered by shame. 

Kanon is his friend, not his— Aiolos certainly doesn’t have the right to question him about his relationship. It doesn’t stop the smoldering stone at the pit of his stomach.  
Clever fingers trace the raised outline straining against cloth. His breath hitches.

The hand on his stomach slides up to his sternum and shoves, like he’s trying to push him away. Aiolos already has got his back mostly to the stone wall, it doesn’t quite work, instead it just jars air out his lungs violently.

Kanon’s other hand goes to his belt immediately: no caress, no teasing touch. Just hand efficiently pulls off his belt and tugs his pants down.

Knees meet earth, his red tongue swipes over his lip. Mouth opens to swallow Aiolos down to the hilt in one long slow decadent moment, as if gag-reflex is just a fictional term. The tips of Kanon’s hair brushes against his thighs and paints blazing lines in its trails.

Aiolos crumples instantly. Almost as soon as chilly cavern envelops him, his knees buckle and a loud, keening whine punches its way out of him, eyes screw shut and head throws back, all his bones turned to water, and he’s not sure if it feels good or if it hurts, it’s just _so much_ -

Kanon’s hand keeps him pinned to the wall not unlike a butterfly. Bricks crumble beneath his fingers. Mercifully, Kanon doesn’t move. Aiolos has to shift for better grip lest he depends only on a palm to keep standing. The thoughtless show of strength leaves him reeling, but he needs air.

He looks down down down until he meets blue flecked with orange, still panting with something. Kanon is looking at him like he is a puzzle he needs to solve, then his expressions change. Still holding his gaze, Kanon then slowly pulls off, releasing him almost completely before engulfing his length again. Lips stretch obscenely around the shaft.

His heart is hammering beneath rib cages. His free arm twitches at his side. Kanon still holds that considering expression, Aiolos feels a jolt of anticipation that is so close to fear it is nearly indistinguishable. Strong palm covers his and gently guides it to the curtain of hair, dark under dying light. The strands are cold silk entwining his digits, giving him a parody of control. There's a hum in return, achingly soft from the back of Kanon's throat.

His toes curl in spite of himself. It does not go unobserved.

The guiding hand slips down to settle on Aiolos’ bare knee. It strokes over the skin, sending waves of sensation up. Tongue flicks against the sensitive underside of his cock. He is seeing star. His grip tightens. 

Kanon pulls off.

“Kanon–“

He can hardly recognize his voice. It’s so wretched, blatantly breathless. ”Kanon, Kanon, please–“

Strings of silver stretch between reddened lips and break. Kanon raises an eyebrow and blows colder air on his feverish hot flesh. He chokes. His grip relaxes. He’s just holding on now.

He sees a flash of a smile, sharp as knife, before that mouth dives back to devour him. It goes down again, twisting as it goes, corkscrewing back to the tip, where he looks up through heavy lids. Aiolos can’t stop moaning. The next slide comes even faster, and Kanon works into a quick pace, bobbing on and off, while he pants harder and harder and tries to keep himself from coming at the mere sight of this.

Kanon slows. Again. He thinks he would cry, but he knows tears have no effect.

His legs are shouldered apart. Long and slim fingers slip behind his balls, and a knuckle grinds against the stretch of skin behind. Aiolos squeaks. He sounds like he’s going to sob. The world is spinning.

The knob of bone twists. He cannot move and hardly wants to. Kanon watches his face as he works his fingers, his mouth, slow satisfaction sparks in his eyes. It is beautiful.

Everything is one red, singing, throbbing haze of overwhelming pleasure. Aiolos comes. It’s startling. He’d almost forgotten that he wanted to, so when an orgasm starts barreling through him he gasps, a huge shocked gulp of air. His fingers jerk and tug sharply on dark locks.

For a heart-stopping moment, he’s almost certain that Kanon would halt. He could see contemplation cast in twilight. Then, he hollows his cheeks, flattens his tongue, removes the hand from Aiolos’ sternum to fondle his balls.

Aiolos is only still standing thanks to the dead grip he has on the wall.

They work in tandem, pulling him apart. He feels the beating of his climax like vast waves breaking on rocks, pounding until there is nothing left, until he is crushed into nothing but salt and spray. 

His world narrows, hazy at the edge. The only clear thing left is Kanon’s expectant lightless irises. The sight of that has him coming hard, so hard his toes curl and the arches of his feet cramp, so hard the rest of him locks up and he just. Sobs.

Sticky white spills out at the corner of shadow-lined lips. Adam’s apple bobs as Kanon swallows it down. His mouth painted and glossy. A spilled drop dribbles down his chin, shines as pearl in orange purple.

Aiolos is certain he is ruined for future partner forever.

Afterwards, he sits limply on the ground as Kanon leans back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He cups Aiolos’ cheek, the skin is as cold as ice, but Aiolos presses his feverish flesh to it all the same. Kanon looks into his eyes the way the sun looks into the bottom of the sea.

He leans forward again, and this time the kiss he presses to Aiolos’ cheek is chaste, slow, ponderous. Kanon cards through his short hair while he tries to get blood flowing back into his legs.

When his legs work again, Kanon stands up. “Good,” he whispers and melts into the shadow. Gone.

Aiolos then realizes, Kanon hasn’t been hard at all the whole time.

What just happened?

He doesn’t know.


	2. Saga dreams.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saga, months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad horny as promised. Saga copes. He doesn't do a very good job.
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day!

The rain comes as a million soul fragments in a chorus together. Drops bounce off the roof of the Temple of the Twins to drop down and shatter on the ancient bricks. Outside the open window of his bedroom, the wan moon blurs behind the curtain of raindrops.

His bed is empty. His chest heaves as it contains his thumping heart, sending blood down his suddenly cold body. A shiver crawls up his spine like a scorpion. Instinct tells him to go, to find before it is too late. He listens.

He rushes into the dim hall. Silvery moonlight and flickering yellow torches guide his way. The air smells like rain buffeted on the rising wind. His footsteps echo the pounding behind his breastbone. He needs to find Kanon.

He reaches the entrance. There is him. The slow curl of dread pools in his stomach.

Kanon is standing bare-feet on the last step to the Temple. Feeble, watery light falls around him like a pale grey shroud. A long step can bring him into the border of the roof, to gain shelter from water drops falling like arrows. Kanon doesn’t. He doesn’t seem to care about water from heavens that is steadily weighing down his robe. His body is like a stone pillar holding their Temple, head tilting up to watch the full moon.

If he notices Saga’s presence, he doesn’t show it. Saga doesn’t enjoy these moments, when he can watch Kanon without being watched himself. Something slips onto his face. Standing in the darkness, for the span of several heartbeats he is Saga no more. It’s a kind of voyeurism, a feeling that plucks taunt at his nerves: Turn back, Kanon. Look at what’s right in front of you.

He doesn’t tread out from the margin, the line where safe shelter meets lunar mania. “I’ve been looking for you,” he speaks.

His brother half turns. His robe wavers like a reflection on disturbed water. Saga’s breaths stutter in his lungs. Illumination catches at the side of his head and shoulder, so half of his face is in shadow. The eyes that gaze out of that face are black, as black as the night that surrounded the moon. His skin is so pale they seem to glow with internal light.

“I’ve been here,” his voice is barely audible over the pitter-patter on stones. 

“Go back to bed. We’ve a long day tomorrow,” Saga states with the calm he doesn’t feel.

Liquid pours down Kanon’s cheeks, laps at the hollow of his throat. “Come join me?” He ignores the command.

“Kanon. Now is not a good time,” he signs.

A peculiar twist dawns on his brother’s lips, unreal enough to hold a secret within them. “Then when would it be a good time, Saga?” A pale hand plays at the gold resting on fine fabric.

“Tomorrow? Next week? Next year? Never?” Hair serpentine, Kanon sweeps it to one side. The heavy accessory on the collar is jarred, slipping down with fabric on one shoulder. Saga simply stares of the skin of his neck spills over collarbones like the swell of a river flowing over estuary.

“Go back yourself. Daybreak comes for you, not me,” Kanon revolves away from him, not disappointed but with the certainty of someone who has just confirmed a theory. One sleeve flutters strangely with the movement, as if there is no limb underneath. Night winds nip at him. Saga shivers.

His brother descends, away from the safe confinement of the Temple. Celestial bodies stare down on him coldly. Alarm bells jangle in the quiet night. 

_Don’t let him go. Don’t let him go. Don’tlethimgodon’tlethimdon’tdon’tdon’t—_

It takes a moment to realize the bells are all in his head. Then he rushes out.

Kanon’s silhouette on the bleached white floor unfurls. Deep and rich, black and quivering holes in reality. Gauzy and thin, scaled as butterfly wings and smoke. He stamps down on instinctual fear of the unknown and pulls Kanon back before he descends to hell.

Rainwater, instead of soaking into his hair his clothes, fat drops roll down his body to join its brethren in puddles, leaving him the only dry and untouched thing in this silent world.

Kanon smiles. Thin rivulets cut across the slow pleasure blooming on his face. A content expression he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Come back with me,” Saga sets his jaw.

“No. You’re coming with me,” his blood grins. His one hand catches the one that is on his bare shoulder by the wrist and sets off, tugging its owner along but up this time.

Up, up, up, taking the stairs by twos, skipping up their expanse with bated breath. His protest dies with every step. Perhaps the lunar goddess has driven him mad too.

Long they journey through the Gold Zodiac, through corridors which seem to warp and shift around them with insulting ease to how solid they are at daylight. They flit like a pair of wraiths, full of unrestrained energy. Cancer. Leo. Virgo. Libra. Scopio. All lifeless and deserted. They halt at the front of Sagittarius Temple. Kanon’s head cants like a curious cat before they’re on their way again, crossing the House with no hesitation. Capricorn. Aquarius. Pisces.

The door to the Grand Master chamber cracks open without any visible force applied and a blast of warm air greets them. The fingers clamping around him shiver.

Saga breathes in the scents of authority and metals, watches the dangling tassels and beads sway from leather cords or from the ceiling length curtains. The rug bruises underneath Kanon’s footsteps. Iron braziers hang far above his head, holding candles inside nests of glass.

The room is eerily quiet. It's similar to being inside a museum in the early hours of the morning, with history staring down at you from all angles. In well-lit condition, drenched hair is blue again. Something unclenches in his stomach. 

He lets himself be led to the throne, to the symbol of absolute power of the Sanctuary. Its seat is hard and stiff beneath his back, very much unlike the satisfaction he’d imagined because it isn’t his, never would be his and he doesn’t deserve anything. 

Ornate metal burns his flesh, carving unseen welts into his skin. Undeserving, it says. It’s correct. The pain shimmers down into a low boil because Kanon takes a step back. His gaze is a sharp gold dagger, hidden in a box buried underground, good only in a traitor’s hand and slaying hope in newborn cribs. 

Saga feels very much like a butterfly on a mount after an uncaring human has suffocated it.

The fabric of Kanon’s gown is thoroughly drenched, clinging to the plane of his ribs and stomach, collarbones jutting like bared teeth. In contrast, Saga himself is as dry as a sunbaked rock.

“What do you want?” He murmurs, decides against disturbing the oppressive stillness.

Tremors wrack the barely human form before him and it staggers forward. It shakes uncontrollably. His mirror match looms over him and he can barely recognize him. Most alarming of all, he huddles down, clutches the hem of Saga’s robes and puts his forehead on Saga’s feet.

“No!” says Saga, horror churning in his chest. “No, you do not do that. Stop, Kanon. Stop it!” He careens into down and slippery fingers from the seam, feebly forces his twin to sit up. Satisfaction coils revoltingly. He nearly slips off the throne but Kanon’s bulk doesn’t let him. 

“Isn’t this what you want?” Kanon laughs, high and frantic and wild and loud. He does not sound human when he laughs. The pupils in his mad eyes are vertical slits of burnished copper-gold set in discs of obsidian. “You want the power to change Sanctuary. You want this chair. You want it enough to throw me away!”

“I didn’t throw you away!” The protest spills out before he can stop it. Lies, lies, lies.

“You let that thing feed me to them!” His eyes are pain-crazed, and despondent. “You let that thing throw me away,” he repeats wonderingly.

“If I had asked you first, offered to help you first, would you have kept me? Would you have fought back better?”

“No,” Kanon shakes his head brokenly. “You would have put me in that cave yourself. You’re that kind of person,” a reverent kiss is pressed to the embroidered hem.

Saga swallows. Kanon is warm against him. He can’t remember the last time his brother was warm. Maybe it was that time by the coast. When he kept his body and mind on land but irrevocably tore open a rip that let his humanity trickle through. He bought them years but at what cost?

“Nobody knows what happened that night but Master Shion. Even when you told the truth, Aiolos still wouldn’t punish you. Sanctuary can’t afford to lose another Gold Saint at the moment. He knows you would punish yourself enough. Your mind has always been your worst enemy, hasn’t it?” His sharp teeth click and clatter together. “But, what about me? Did I deserve what happened? Did I? Answer me, Saga!”

He would do it again at any cost.

“You didn’t deserve what happened. The fault is all mine.” 

Kneeling in a lake of pooling rainwater, drops of moisture escape Kanon’s mouth, leak from the corner of his eyes like tears. Saga picks up his brother’s hand and holds it between his own. The shape Kanon reflected has wings and blood-dripping fangs. For a moment, he doesn’t see a hand but a talon covered in dark blue scales and pupil-less eyes glaring at him and then a hand again.

A trembling body slowly crawls into his lap. He releases the hand to wrap his arms around the solid weight. Unbiddenly, his mind drags up images of stormy nights, when Kanon tries his best to claw beneath his skin as if he wants nothing more than to nest himself beneath his ribs, right beside his beating heart.

The copper-gold and obsidian of his eyes seep away leaving a human shade of blue. “Don’t try to take all the fault on your shoulders because it’s easier,” a limb is hooked over his neck. “Coward.”

Subsequently, salty lips press against his. Chaste and soft. He breathes in the scent of rain over sea. They shouldn’t do this. He can’t dredge up the energy to care.

The next kiss is open-mouthed, hot and sweet like honey mead. His palms splay over the wings of hipbones. Long fingers slide over his throat to rest there, cupping his heartbeat, running the pad of thumb over the line of his jaw, back and forth. 

Kanon grinds his hip into between his legs. He hardens, and a familiar heat floods his core. The same one that has driven him to distraction more than once. Knowing the feeling is supposed to be normal doesn’t erase the cloying shame of knowing who makes you feel like this.

It feels oddly right to have this strong form, almost identical to himself in his arms — but Saga avoids dwelling on the implications, content to run his hands against the muscled back and up the ridges of spine, counting the vertebra as Kanon throws his upper body backwards trying to get their groins plush together. Legs entwine around his waist, pulling him forward.

In this position, his other half has no solid leverage, no way to stop a fall but clinging to him, trusting him to hold him close. Kanon doesn’t seem to care. He drinks in his gasps. Takes him by the tongue. Sucks out all the flavor like a piece of sweet. Devours it as if sinking his teeth into his soul, filling him with undeserving love.

“You saw us that day,” he murmurs. Hunger dribbles down their chin. “Aiolos and me. You liked what you saw so much you didn’t even get jealous. You turned around and hated yourself instead.”

“Yes,” Saga bucks his hip. Kanon’s laughter is the sound of broken glasses.

“He wants you. He wants to help, don’t you know? Has he allowed himself to demand and take, instead of waiting,” Kanon continues, mouthing his collarbone. He keeps doing firm, deliberate pressure, tipped with prickles of sharpness that shoot sparks down every nerve. It is more effective at blanking out his head than anything before.

“Think about it. He’s a good person,” lips pressing gently into his ear, an echo of kneading fingers with the sleek elegance of some underwater creature. “Punishing yourself doesn’t help anybody.”

Saga is intoxicated, running out of control as he rushes ahead. “He, he doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t want,” he can’t finish his sentence. He crushes their bodies together. This will slip away too if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

He understands Kanon has little carnal desires: flesh against flesh, the rush of blood to the head, skin slick with beads of sweat. He has no need for it. He is rolling thunder clouds and stars-scorched featherless angel wings. He could have everything he ever wanted. But Saga peers into his eyes, sea blue and burnish copper, and he sees a devotion that burns brighter than the sun.

“Tell him,” tone chiding, says his brother, as though Saga isn’t rutting against him like an animal. “Why ask for trust if you can’t offer the same?”

“I can’t,” he is drowning. 

“You can,” comes with conviction.

It’s heaven. His moans are claimed before they can spill from his throat. His hands try to grasp something in his search for purchase, but all they can manage are the fraught half-moons he digs into bones as his core clenches. He shuts his eyes and he can see stars. There is no reprieve. All he can think about is this relentless, raw sensation that sets him on fire.

Then, he tips over the edge. Metaphorically and literally.

They fall off the throne. Saga bucks one last time in between his brother’s welcome thighs. Stickiness drips. 

Kanon laughs again. Spits glossy and clear as windchimes. His hair fans out like a halo.

“Gemini Saga,” he whispers, gentle as the beat of a monster’s wing. “Try to be happy.”

His lips aren’t blood-stained. He could not explain why, but it seems to him that they should be.

“Farewell.”

He wakes up.

* * *

There are faint crashes of waves. He listens to the notes with a mind like a pane of frosted crystal.

Sensation penetrates gradually through the haze. His body feels heavy. Like he's been sick for a long time. He's alone. The air is chilly with the scent of rain and moonlight.

Saga cracks his lids open. The familiar ceiling greets him shrouded in the greyness of low natural light.

The thought floats up through his consciousness: he is disgusting.

His arm shakes when he tries to push up against the bone-deep lethargy that has been his constant companion for months.

He stumbles toward the closet. His fingers are shaking when he fumbles open the wooden box he hides underneath everything. The flesh had oozed off with ink black blood hours later. Even scales had gradually turned to dust days later. Only ebony bones that sparkle with blue remain now.

He wonders how long he has before he loses everything.

Even now, he still can’t make himself honor Kanon — his brother, his twin, his other half, his savior — as more than a dirty little secret.

He is grateful for the night because he doesn’t have to see filthy tears tainting the last thing he has left of Kanon.


End file.
